


Coping Mechanisms

by Mengde



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday Presents, Competence Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Short, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mengde/pseuds/Mengde
Summary: Obi-Wan is tired, and stressed, and the war is far from over.  Captain Rex can see all this, and knows just what the General needs.  It involves a chair, a pair of cuffs, and a lot of trust.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norcumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/gifts).



> I wrote this for my friend norcumi, whose birthday is today. Go read her stuff, it's great! Especially the Balance series with dogmatix.
> 
> For my other readers, just an FYI, this has no relationship to the Sith Apprentice series. (Even though they hook up there, too.)

“You had me worried there, General,” Rex says.

Obi-Wan starts.  He realizes he’s been sitting at his desk, staring at the wall, for the past five minutes.  _Tired.  I’m too tired._

“Worried?” he asks, turning to face the Captain.  Rex stands in the doorway to Obi-Wan’s quarters, the corridor lights silhouetting him.  He’s dressed in his black bodysuit and fatigues, no armor – which is unusual.  _Then again,_ Obi-Wan thinks, _it_ is _nearly two in the morning._

“Yes,” Rex replies.  “The larty comes over the hill, and all we can see is a sea of droids with you and General Skywalker in the middle.  _Worried_ ’s a bit of an understatement, frankly.”

Obi-Wan snorts.  “I appreciate the thought, Captain, but I am quite capable of taking care of myself.  Yesterday’s engagement was somewhat harrowing, but we have been in far worse positions.  I had the situation entirely under control.”

Rex nods.  “Yes, sir.  But I’m here to offer a professional opinion.  Speaking in my capacity as morale officer of the 501st.”

His curiosity beginning to overcome his fatigue, Obi-Wan gestures for Rex to come in.  “Please, Captain.  Speak your mind.  Though I’m obliged to point out that, the point about my commanding the 212th rather than the 501st aside, your duties as morale officer do not extend to Jedi.”

Rex accepts Obi-Wan’s invitation, the door sliding closed behind him.  “Of course, sir.  I mention my position because it adds weight to the argument.”  He moves to lean casually against the desk, looming slightly over Obi-Wan.

“Very well,” Obi-Wan says, trying to put his finger on the vague feeling of disconcertment he’s experiencing and failing.  “Proceed, Captain.”

Rather than launching directly into whatever he has to say, Rex picks up one of the many datapads scattered across the desk.  He glances over it.  “Report about today’s engagement?”

“Yes.”  Obi-Wan wonders why this is germane, but humors the other man.  “The Council needs to know about certain design trends we’ve observed in the Super Battle Droid line.”

“This is precisely the point I’m trying to make, sir.”  Rex puts the datapad back down.  “You could be sleeping, but you’re writing a report about the fact that the SBD chest armor is a half-inch thicker in the latest model.  You were literally surrounded by two thousand droids, but you tell me it was under control. 

“As the 501st’s morale officer, it’s my professional opinion that you’re under an enormous amount of stress, and you’re trying to deal with it by remaining in control at all times.  Even when a situation is obviously beyond your ability to do so.  And as a coping mechanism, that causes more problems than it solves.  You’re tired, you’re unfocused.  You’re liable to make bad decisions, Force or no.  I think you need to make a change.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.  “Really.  The opinion is appreciated, Captain.  However, given that the stress is unlikely to be relieved any time soon, unless you come up with a better coping mechanism…”

“Well.  I did have one idea about that, sir.  If you’ll permit me.”

“Please.”

Rex smiles faintly.  “Bear with me, then.”  He levers himself off the desk, walks around Obi-Wan’s chair.

Obi-Wan starts when he feels something cold and metallic close around his right wrist.  Both his arms are yanked through the back of the chair, and his other wrist is captured an instant later.

“Rex?” he asks, very confused.

The blonde man comes back around into Obi-Wan’s field of view.  “I grew up with millions of other men who look just like me,” he says.  “Body language, expression, is everything.  So I’m fairly certain of myself when I say that, despite your best efforts to hide it, I can tell you want me.  Sir.”

Obi-Wan stiffens, the cuffs biting just slightly into his wrists.  It takes him a moment to recover enough presence of mind to answer.  “If I don’t deny it, will you let me out of these cuffs?”

“Deflecting the truth with humor,” Rex says.  “Classic avoidance response.  But this isn’t my first nerf muster, sir.  That’s not a _yes,_ and I can’t proceed without one.”

Blood rushes to Obi-Wan’s face, for reasons which have nothing to do with being cuffed to the chair.  “Yes,” he says after a long moment.  “I do.  But it’s not – _proper._   We’re of disparate rank.  Jedi are not supposed to have attachments.”

“Nothing about this war is proper, sir,” Rex counters.  “May I make another observation?”

Obi-Wan feels his lip twitch at Rex’s continued insistence on showing due deference when they are in such an… _unusual_ position.  “I seem unable to stop you, Captain.”

“That’s the thing, sir.  You’re entirely able.  Let’s put aside the fact that you could probably just snap the cuffs with arm strength alone.  You’re a Jedi.  You have the Force.  If you really didn’t want to be in that chair, you wouldn’t be.”

Starting to shrug, Obi-Wan feels the cuffs clink against the back of the chair and stops the motion.  “I suppose I wouldn’t.  Your point?”

“You need to have someplace, sometime, when you’re not in control,” Rex replies.  “This is the closest you’ve come to that in possibly forever.  You know that you _could_ be, but you’re choosing _not_ to be.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes.  “Let’s say you’re correct.  What is your endgame, Captain?  Do you intend to leave me cuffed to this chair, my hands slowly going numb, until the morning?”

Now Rex circles back around to behind Obi-Wan.  “This is just the setup, sir.  I’ve created a space for you to make this choice in.  My endgame is for you to go to bed, and sleep a full night for once.  How we get there – well.”  His hands rest gently on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the unfamiliar touch sending a shiver through him.  “That’s up to you.”

Obi-Wan swallows.  He feels as though he’s standing on the edge of a great cliff, the ocean beneath him.  He wants to take that dive, but he’s afraid of what it might mean, of what might happen.

But he knows he is a Jedi.  And while a Jedi is not supposed to have attachments, it is even more important for a Jedi not to be owned by fear.

Perhaps that is an excuse.  But he feels the strength in Rex’s fingers, the closeness of the other man’s body behind him, and he knows, in his bones, that he wants this.

“Go ahead, Captain,” he says.  “I’m yours.”

Rex crouches to bring his mouth to Obi-Wan’s ear.  “Just Rex while we’re here, sir,” he says, breath warm on Obi-Wan’s skin.  “There’s no rank.  No responsibility.  Just the two of us.”

Obi-Wan gives into the urge to arch his back so his head rests more closely into the crook of Rex’s neck.  He can feel the muscles moving in the broad shoulder beneath him as Rex’s arm comes up around his left side.  “Shouldn’t you drop the ‘sir,’ then?”

“I think I’ll keep using it,” Rex replies, his hand working Obi-Wan’s belt off.  “I enjoy the sound of it.  Sir.”

With his right hand, Rex grips Obi-Wan’s jaw, turning his head to kiss him.  His tongue presses gently but firmly into Obi-Wan’s mouth.  At the same time, Rex’s left hand dexterously works its way into Obi-Wan’s trousers and begins stroking his cock, which has already begun to stiffen.  In moments, Obi-Wan finds himself fully erect, almost painfully so. 

To use Rex’s term, this is not his first nerf muster.  But Obi-Wan has never felt so _on,_ so keenly aware of every detail and every sensation.  Rex’s hand drifts down from his jaw to his throat, applying light but steady pressure, and Obi-Wan at first resists the desire to moan.  Then he remembers why the two of them are here, what he needs from this, and decides to commit fully to not being in control, of _anything._

Rex frees Obi-Wan’s cock from his trousers and begins caressing it, running his fingers along its length, around its head, across the glans.  He never stops kissing him, demonstrating a remarkable ability to multitask.

It does not take Obi-Wan long.  He feels the sensation building past the point of no return.  His muscles clench, and he comes long and hard, arms straining against the cuffs, head pressing into Rex’s shoulder, gasping into the other man’s mouth with the force of his climax.  There is a sudden snap, and the metal chain connecting the cuffs breaks clean in half.  He nearly falls out of the chair, but Rex catches him.

“Easy there, sir,” he says.  “I suppose we won’t be using these again.  I’ll have to requisition a fresh pair.  Preferably one with a hardier chain.”

Still breathing heavily, somewhat self-conscious and relieved that he has private laundry facilities, Obi-Wan straightens in the chair.  “Yes,” he says, his voice surprisingly hoarse.  “I suppose you’ll need to.”  He looks pointedly at the very visible bulge beneath Rex’s bodysuit.  “Do you need some help with that?  I think it only fair.”

“Tonight wasn’t about me, sir,” Rex replies, raising a hand and smiling.  “I’ll be just fine.  Why don’t we save that for next time.  When we have more of the evening free.”

Obi-Wan frowns.  “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes.  I told you my endgame was to get you to sleep through the night, and if we _really_ get into it, there’ll be no sleep for either of us.”  Rex raises an eyebrow and indicates Obi-Wan’s bunk with a nod of his head.  “Go to bed, General Kenobi.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  And without another word, he turns – cracks the door first, to make sure nobody is going to see anything they shouldn’t – and leaves.

Obi-Wan strips off his clothes, pries the cuffs off with the Force, lies down, and shuts his eyes.  The next thing he knows, it is morning.


End file.
